


these thrills ain't as cheap as they used to be

by redbrunja



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Case Fic, F/F, Female Friendship, Gen, Porn With Plot, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrunja/pseuds/redbrunja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I suppose I'll–" Steve began.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"You're not sleeping on the floor," Natasha cut in. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve decide to change tack. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Or in my car. Or in the woods." She held up her left hand. "I promise to keep my hands to myself."</i></p><p> </p><p>Natasha went down to Georgia to clean up some loose ends. She didn't anticipate that Steve would be joining her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Natasha turned her corvette into the motel's gravel parking lot, Steve was already waiting for her.

 

He was straddling his silent motorcycle, his white t-shirt the brightest thing in the evening light, looking off into the tangled mess of new-growth forest that surrounded the motel.

 

As the car’s engine stuttered into silence, a chorus of chirping insects took its place.

 

She was in White Poplar, Georgia: the middle of nowhere and the location of one of the many ignominious loose ends that had needed to be handled after SHIELD fell.

 

Bobby Roy Bobbins was a loose end Natasha would have preferred to deal with permanently, but Maria had stressed the importance of playing nice. That from a woman who preferred to play hardball meant that Natasha would listen, even if she didn't want to.

 

Pre-Chitauri invasion) Bobbins had been an evangelical preacher who'd gotten his hands on an 084. He'd used it to coerce his congregation into giving him their money (which Natasha was aware was not a situation that usually needed to be facilitated by extra-terrestrial technology) as well as coercing them into performing self-mutilating "rituals" to "call down the light of God."

 

Three years ago, it had taken less than twelve hours of work for Natasha to isolate him from any witnesses, sedate him, and hand him off to SHIELD to be shipped to the Fridge.

 

He'd escaped when the Fridge was compromised, and while Natasha would have liked something a little more challenging to work off the frustrations of several months of congressional hearings and having her face and her names and her history in the public sphere... She _had_ already taken down a Hydra cell in New Hampshire a week and a half ago, and she _had_ lost the coin toss with Barton about who got to hunt down the Man-Thing up in Northern Saskatchewan.

 

"It's good to see you," Steve said, coming to stand beside her car.

 

"Likewise," Natasha responded. She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and let him carry her bag into the motel lobby.

 

Bobbins wasn't the kind of problem that required a two person team and a super-soldier as back up for what had been a milk-run six years ago struck Natasha as intrinsically hilarious, even knowing that Steve's presence had more to do with Maria deciding Steve needed to get out Brooklyn than Natasha's safety.

 

The resolution of Steve's search for James Barnes had been very, very messy but it sat easily on Steve's shoulders. He looked good. Natasha let her gaze linger on Steve's shoulders, noting the way the fabric of his shirt stretched across them.

 

She tuned back in when the motel clerk told them that she only had one room available.

 

"Excuse me?" said Steve.

 

"We only have one room available," the motel clerk repeated, determination in her tone. "It comes with a queen."

 

Steve twisted to look at the four vehicles (including Natasha's and Steve's) in the parking lot.

 

"But.." he started. "Are you _sure?_ "

 

The motel clerk flinched under Steve's gaze, clicked a few things meaninglessly with her mouse, and then visibly steeled herself. "One room left," she repeated.

 

"I.." Steve looked over at Natasha, who had her eyes fixed on her phone, texting Maria. 

 

_Are the sleeping arrangements related to Bobbins?_ her text read.

Maria sent a response back so fast that Natasha suspected it had been waiting in her drafts folder. _No. It's the SECOND problem you're solving for me._

 

The hotel clerk is clearly prepared to stonewall Steve all night.

 

"I suppose I'll–" Steve began.

 

"You're not sleeping on the floor," Natasha cut in.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the moment Steve decided to change tack.

 

"Or in my car. Or in the woods." She held up her left hand. "I promise to keep my hands to myself."

 

~~~

 

(A month later, she got the complete story from Maria and Sharon at The Silver Top Tat, their favorite bar in DC.

 

"As Coulson is dead, he really couldn't be to blame for the fact that hotels stopped having two beds to a room in the middle of Georgia," Maria said, licking the salt rim of her margarita. If she'd been hooked to a polygraph machine, the needles wouldn't even have twitched. "Or any extra rooms. At all."

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow and Sharon went, "um-hmmm," and took a long sip of her cocktail.

 

Maria paused.

 

"Hypothetically speaking, if I had been asked to distract Coulson from acting like a disapproving, over-protective father, agreeing to interfere with Captain America's love life would be a great way to do that," Maria continued blandly.

 

Sharon narrowed her eyes. "Coulson's lucky he's dead," she commented, "because if I found out that a living, breathing person disapproved of Trip, I'd feel a familial obligation to have a very serious conversation with him about that."

 

Natasha sniggered and realized she was quite a bit drunker than she usually let herself get in public.

 

"Well, if Trip wouldn't go down on former Rising Tide hackers in glass-walled rooms, _I_ wouldn't have to distract his CO with romantic comedy shenanigans," Maria said waspishly.

 

Sharon practically choked on her laughter. "Good for Trip," she said.

 

"Hopefully, it was even better for the hacker," Natasha added slyly.)

 

~~~

 

"I'm sorry," Steve apologized again as they climbed the stairs to their room. "I should have gone in and booked us rooms earlier." He shot a puzzled glance at the almost empty parking lot again.

 

"Don't worry about it, Steve," Natasha replied. She gave him a sultry smile over her shoulder. "I promise, I've slept with worse."

 

Steve frowned at that and as Natasha unlocked their door, she felt his eyes on her, soft, like the barest brush of fingers against the back of her neck.

 

The remainder of the evening wasn't as awkward as it could've been. They'd slept in close quarters before, even if they weren'tquite _this_ close.

 

Natasha spent most of it on her tablet, alternating between news sites, checking her emails, her aliases emails, and a rambling gchat with Agent 13 on concealing weapons and annoying co-workers.

 

Steve spent the time sketching at the wobbly table.

 

Natasha eventually set aside her tablet and ran through some light stretches to loosen the kinks from her neck. When she rose from a leisurely back handspring, Steve was staring fixedly at his sketchbook, his pencil still.

 

That first night, Natasha settled herself on the right side of the bed. Next to her, Steve was as stiff as a corpse. She could practically feel a cloud of tension surrounding him.

 

It wasn't effortless to keep her body relaxed, but she forced herself to breath slow and deep, finally slipping into a light doze.

 

She was aware of Steve slipping out of bed in the early hours of the morning and when she blinked her eyes open at around seven, he was doing one-arm push ups in front of the sliding glass door that lead to the balcony.

 

He was doing them half speed, slowly lowering himself to the floor before raising himself back up. He must have been at it for a while, long enough for sweat to gleam faintly along his skin.

 

Natasha tucked her head on her arm and watched him. Steve was a superlative sight to wake up to.

 

She saw the instant he realized she was awake, even before he lifted his head to meet her gaze.

 

"Hey," she said.

 

"Natasha," he responded, rose smoothly to his feet, and then seemed at a loss for what to do next.

 

She stretched and then rolled out of the bed.

 

"If you were bored, you could have gone for a run," she commented. "Or to breakfast." She glanced at him as she grabbed her bag of toiletries. "Don't tell me you were worried about leaving me defenseless?"

 

"Yeah, because defenseless is the first word I think of when I think of you," Steve said dryly. "I wouldn't leave anyone alone and asleep when we're on a mission."

 

"You do realize that Bobbins is completely third-rate?" Natasha asked.

 

Steve shrugged. "Still wouldn't feel right."

 

"Hm," said Natasha. She headed for the shower. 


	2. Chapter 2

"I still think we should just go get him," Steve said and Natasha could see it took every ounce of willpower he had for Steve not to look over his shoulder.

 

"So patience isn't one of your numerous virtues?" Natasha teased as they stood in front of her car.

 

It was the second day of their stay in White Poplar and they were on their second run at Bobbins' nearest and dearest: asking pointed questions and being mildly insulting. Or at least, Natasha was. She'd dressed both days entirely in black; black jeans, black tank, black sunglasses. It was the closest she could get to sartorially announcing 'I'm the Black Widow' without actually dressing in her tactical suit.  Steve wasn't allowed to say anything on those visits, not after the first time when Steve and Bobbins' ex-mother-in-law spent thirty-two minutes on a conversation about what a nice living room Bobbins' ex-mother-in-law had.

 

Bobbins had started following them late in the afternoon on the first day.

 

The plan was to needle at Bobbins until he made a move; something nice and blatantly offensive. Natasha was almost hoping he had a trick or two up his sleeve, but she doubted it.

 

She stared at her care as she swung her keys around her index finger. Bobbins would make a move, sooner or later. He was clearly (as in, she could see him skulking behind the wheel of a pick up truck registered in his uncle's name two blocks behind Steve) biding his time. And even if he played this smart and ran, she was already ahead of him. Before she'd driven up to the motel and found Steve waiting for her, she'd been at Bobbins favorite dive, brushing past him in a brunette wig and slipping a subcutaneous tracker into the back of his arm.

 

The only place that man was going was a six by six cell.

 

She was just... getting really bored.

 

And she was concerned that she was going to do something vicious and callous while she waited.

 

Steve had slept, last night. He'd woken her up when his breathing had deepened, when he'd turned to her, curled one arm around her waist, head tucked against her breast. His weight against her had felt so... comfortable. Comforting. It had reminded her of the dozens of times she'd ducked behind his shoulders and his shield while fire and rubble and ruin tried to crush them both. It felt like teamwork and trust. She'd lain in the dark, one hand curled around the nape of his neck, slowly stroking the short hair there, until she'd fallen back asleep.

 

"Would you like to go get some ice cream?" Steve asked, interrupting her thoughts and bringing her attention back to the issue at hand.

 

Natasha whipped her head around.

 

"We don't have to," Steve said after a moment of her staring at him. "I just thought... I saw an ice cream place? Since the only thing we're doing is waiting-" Steve's jaw clenched and she could almost see him editing out "for Bobbins to grow a goddamned pair of balls" "-for Bobbins, it might be nice?"

 

God, he was adorable.

 

She really shouldn't, she really shouldn't, this was only going to end with her hurting Steve–

 

"It's a date," she said, twining her arm through Steve's. She told herself she was doing this to irritate Bobbins and knew she was lying to herself. She smiled and could feel that her expression was just a little too genuine.

 

~~~~

 

(Natasha gave Maria a look. She was sure she'd misheard what Maria had said over the loud music playing over the bar's speakers.

 

The Silver Top Tat was all fake leather seats, chrome, and loud techno-heavy music. Most of the clientele were upscale yuppies and political attaches blowing off steam. On the plus side, the drinks were _amazing,_ the bartenders uniformly attractive as fuck, and the way the deep booth seats and chrome tables were set up, it was easy to "discreetly" slip a hand between someone else's thigh, as Sharon was demonstrating right now.

 

She and Maria eye-fucked and possibly finger-fucked for a few minutes and then Natasha pointedly cleared her throat. The conversation got back on track.

 

Maria leaned across the table. "I _said_ , Steve asked me how you were, and when I said you were down in Georgia blowing off steam-"

 

"Bobbins is too incompetent to count as blowing off steam," Natasha broke in.

 

"Not the point," Sharon said, pointing her olive skewer at Natasha.

 

" _I said_ you were down in Georgia blowing off steam," Maria repeated in her most deputy-director-if-you-make-me-repeat-myself-again-you'll regret-it voice. "And he asked if he could join you, so I sent him down."

 

"Hill, are you aware you're no longer my commanding officer?" Natasha asked. "Or Captain America's?"

 

"Nat, just say, 'thank you,'" Sharon said at the same time Maria narrowed her eyes and went, "no," sounding like the voice of god.)

 

~~~

 

Steve watched her finish her vanilla cone with this fucking _fond_ look in his eyes.

 

A dangerously fond look in his eyes.

 

This is when she really should start trying to set him up with someone else, for the hundredth time. That had been a game she'd started back at SHIELD, when she'd known that Steve needed to get out in the world, and thought a girlfriend might help. She'd continued it when she realized that it would be much safer for Steve if he belonged to someone else.

 

Her code name wasn't Black Widow for the obvious reasons, but that didn't mean she was _nice._

 

And... she liked Steve. Liked him more than she'd expected to like someone who was held up as a paragon of 1940's manhood and virtue. More relevantly, she liked him more than she'd ever expected to like anyone who was as decent through and through as Steve. Natasha knew genuinely good people existed. She just calculated that it was much safer for everyone if they didn't exist in her immediate sphere of influence.  Or collateral damage.

 

She crunched the last bit of her cone, bounced on her toes a bit. They were slowly ambling back to the 'vette.

 

"If he's touched my car," Natasha said musingly. "I'm going to count it as making the first move."

 

Steve grinned. "I'll back you up on that play," he said.

 

They walked past a small playground. The grass was golden-green, with some crayola-colored kid's equipment at the far side.

 

Natasha vaulted the thigh-high fence, waving her hand at Steve.

 

"Spar with me," she said and Steve's smile was bright and had just the faintest edge of competitiveness to it.

 

Oh, this was going to be _fun._

 

He jumped the fence, lunged for her, no subtlety at all, and Natasha danced away.

 

They crossed the playground a couple of times, Steve trying to use the fact that he was faster to his advantage. She just darted away, pivoted, and dashed out of his reach at the last second.

 

Evade, evade, and then she threw herself at his legs, tried to knock him down. He jumped back, managed to keep his feet and then Natasha was back on hers.

 

Offensive this time, contact, punch, block, parry - he was holding back but so was she - he committed a little too much to a punch and she took his arm and flipped him.

 

He grabbed her wrist as he fell, yanked her off her feet, and tried to roll her under him. Too much momentum, though. Natasha let him, let him get over her, and then did a classic bridge, levering him onto his back. She twisted, ending up with her forearm across his throat, his body taking most of her weight as she crouched over him.

 

Their faces were inches apart. Steve's eyes were brightly, impossibly blue.

 

"Very nice," she said. "But I believe this point goes to me."

 

Steve dropped his eyes to her mouth.

 

"First point's yours, ma'am," Steve agreed, and she felt his body tensing under hers. "Next one's mine."


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha sat at the little table that came with the motel room, tablet in front of her and listened to the shower run. Steve had asked if he could take the first shower, and since he'd been significantly more grass-stained and dirt-covered, she'd been gracious in her victory and agreed.

 

She thought of Steve in the shower, water running down the planes of his chest, flushed pink with the heat. Natasha knew men, and Natasha knew Steve; he wouldn't turn her away if she slipped in, if she joined him.

 

She let herself hold that thought in her mind. Stepping naked into the shower with him. Taking his cock in her hands, stroking him. The sounds he'd make. She imagined how his fingers would feel, gripping her shoulders as she ran a thumb over the head of his penis. Or maybe he'd cup her breasts, maybe he'd cup her breasts and moan, hips jerking as she brought him off.

 

She wondered what his refractory period was. How long she'd have to wait until he'd be ready to pick her up, screw her against the shower wall.

 

She'd bet the water would still be hot.

 

If she fucked Steve, would that show up as red or black in her ledger?

 

Depends what she did after.

 

_In the aftermath_ , she thought wryly. Natasha flicked through a few different articles on her tablet, forcing herself to stay in her seat. She was excellent at leaving wreckage behind her and she didn't want that for Steve.

 

Someone knocked at the door.

 

Natasha smiled and slipped her widow's bites on her bare wrists.

 

Steve exited the bathroom, leaving shower still running. He hadn't bothered to towel off and water droplets clung to his bare chest and darkened the waistband of the jeans he'd yanked on.

 

He grabbed his shield, using it to gesture to the door.

 

Natasha nodded in understanding before slipping out onto the balcony. She leapt from the railing to the roof, dashed soundlessly across to wait right above the door of their motel room. She looked over the roof's edge to observe their uninvited guests, also taking the opportunity to flick a quick glance over at the parking lot.

 

"Who is it?" Steve called through the closed door.

 

Bobbins had brought three thugs with him. Two were flanking him presently, the third one waiting in the get away truck, engine running. The truck was waiting right, directly below Natasha. One of the thugs next to Bobbins had a handgun, the other a shotgun. They'd grabbed the hotel clerk before they'd come up. Bobbins was using her as a shield, one arm twisted up behind her, Bobbins holding a knife to her throat.

 

Bobbins dug the knife deeper into her neck, blood trickling down her skin.

 

"Answer," he hissed.

 

"Housekeeping!" the clerk called out, sounding utterly terrified.

 

Nothing could have gotten Steve to open the door faster.

 

He ripped it open, already swinging his shield. He slashed the edge across the blade of the knife, twisted the shield to an angle, and slammed the edge of the shield into Bobbins' face, before swooping the motel clerk out of Bobbin's grasp in one move.

 

As that was happening, Natasha swung down from the roof, kicking thug #1 in the face. He sprawled across the ground, handgun sliding out of his grip. Thug #2 swung the shotgun towards her. She was too close for the weapon to be effective; she blocked the barrel and slammed a punch into his throat, electricity crackling around her fist.

 

She yanked the shotgun out of his twitching hands and leaped over the railing, onto the hood of the truck waiting below.

 

The getaway driver started screaming.

 

~~~

 

("Let me explain something to you, Sharon," Natasha said with utter seriousness. "The GBI agent you unceremoniously dumped so you could nail Maria is not going to want to owe you _that many_ favors. Next round's on you." )

 

~~~

 

Natasha and Steve reached the Atlanta office of the GBI at 1:23 a.m. They left with not too much ill-will behind them at around six in the morning, the sky brilliantly pink above them. It was a credit to Sharon's contact in the GBI that they'd been allowed to leave that quickly.

 

"There's a hotel a few blocks away," Steve said. "I made reservations while Agent Samuels was interviewing you for the fifth time."

 

Natasha's lips quirked. Clearly she hadn't been the only one deeply annoyed by the delay. Sure, they'd been uninvited, but they'd brought such nice gifts with them.

 

Her corvette was more responsive now that three people were no longer shoved in the truck. Steve followed behind on his motorcycle.

 

The trip to the hotel only took minutes.

 

At the lobby desk, the clerk checked their reservation, glanced between them and the computer, and then cleared his throat.

 

"I'm sorry," he said, extra polite. "But I'm afraid we only have one room available."

 

"Really, son?" Steve said, looking stern. "Because that wasn't the case when I made this reservation."

 

Natasha just looked at the clerk and said, "no" in a voice that promised death.

 

There was a long silence.

 

"I'm sorry?" the clerk said, looking terrified.

 

Steve looked at her and she could see his annoyance with the clerk dropping away, hear the faint touch of hurt in his voice when he said, "Nat, it's okay, I'm happy to sleep on the floor, really."

 

Natasha didn't respond to that. She leaned across the counter. The clerk leaned away, white visible in an unbroken ring around his irises.

 

"Two rooms," she said precisely. "The same floor, at least three stories up. Ideally next to each other."

 

The clerk swallowed nervously, tapped at her keyboard, and then slid the keycards to 504 and 506 across the counter to Natasha.


	4. Chapter 4

She was restless.

 

Natasha leaned on the balcony of her hotel room, the sultry wind ruffling her hair. She should shower, sleep, but instead she watched the city streets below, tension coiling in her spine, heat pooling low in her belly.

 

There was a knock at the door.

 

"It's Steve," Steve called out.

 

Natasha schooled her face, letting any expression drop away. When she glanced in the mirror on the way to the door, she looked remote, removed, untouchable.

 

She opened the door.

 

Steve stood there, one hand resting on the door jamb. He'd showered before coming over. He was wearing clean jeans, a fresh white t-shirt. She could smell the scent of his soap. Something lemony.

 

That made her throat tight. That he'd cleaned up before coming over and talking with her. He had to know she wasn't going to say anything he was going to like hearing.

 

"I missed you," he said, jumping right in. Because Steve is brave, always, not just when people are trying to kill him. "I mean- the last few days - I liked being with you. I liked waking up with you."

 

Natasha didn't allow herself to show any emotional reaction to those words.

 

"You really need to get a girlfriend." Her voice was dismissive.

 

"I don't want a girlfriend," he said, his jaw going tight. "I want you."

 

"Steve, you don't," Natasha said, calmly.

 

Steve set his jaw, mulish expression on his face. "If you're not interested, that's fine, just say that."

 

It would be most expedient to stay that she didn't think of Steve like that; she felt the lie on the flat of her tongue. But. Steve trusted so, so easily. It worried her, even as she craved it. Yes, he'd seen parts of her. True parts of her, even, but a handful of truths wasn't the whole of someone, especially someone like her. It didn't mean she was safe and she needed him to understand that.

 

She sprang at him.

 

She wrapped her legs around his waist, grabbed his hair, wrenched his head back, and kissed him. It was a harsh, biting kiss. Steve moaned into her mouth, his hands broad and warm on her back, pressing her closer.

 

Natasha kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, plundering his mouth until finally she wrenched hers away, breathless and panting.

 

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then he walked all the way into her room. He kicked the door, it bounced open, and he kicked it again, managing to close it this time. Natasha caressed the back of his neck with the tips of her nails and he fumbled with the lock, fingers suddenly clumsy. He shivered and hooked the end table with his foot, shoving it, causing to fall against the door.

 

Natasha bit her way down his neck and back, kissed the edge of his jaw, fast, hurried, like she was being timed.

 

Steve set her back on the bed, legs still tight around him and she squirmed, pulling her shirt off while she worked herself a little lower, getting his jeans-clad erection right against her pussy.

 

She ground against him, desperate for friction and pressure, and Steve dropped his head to her shoulder and swore.

 

Natasha laughed and pulled off her shirt. She unhooked her bra and tossed it aside.

Steve had leaned back a little to watch her and when she went for his belt, he put his hands under her ass, boosted her further up the bed.

 

"Hey, easy," he said, "give me a minute."

 

"No," Natasha said, and went for his belt again, but Steve retaliated and pinned her hips to the bed, his thumbs resting just below her belly button, fingers wrapped over the curve of her waist. She liked that, bucked her hips up just so he'd press down harder.

 

"Okay, fine," she said, and stilled, letting Steve carefully explore her collarbone,

the valley between her breasts, the peak of her nipples. He nipped carefully at the top of her left breast, watched her skin pink, and then leaned up to kiss her again.

 

She didn't let him, put her hand on the top of his head and pushed down.

 

"I want your mouth on my cunt," she said bluntly.

 

He did not hesitate _at all,_ scrambling down to get her naked, get between her thighs.

Even with her help, Steve ripped her pants getting them off.

 

"Sorry," he said, his tone patently insincere. He did take more care with her panties, though, easing them down. The second they were off of her, Natasha wrapped her legs around his head, arched into his mouth.

 

She didn't hold back; she let her body writhe and press up into his mouth, chasing the sparks of pleasure that raced down her limbs. She dug her heels into his shoulder blades, worked herself against his mouth even as he licked her, steady swipes with the flat of his tongue, curling the tip against her clit.

 

Her orgasm was like a slap; fast, shocking. Her thighs trembled with it, and Steve lifted his head at the end, watching her shake through her climax with this dazed, almost-desperate look on his face.

 

She unwound her legs before the aftershocks were done.

 

Natasha rolled away. It took her seconds to get a condom out of her bag and then she was stalking back to Steve, naked, hair tangled, curling against the sweat on her neck and shoulders.

 

He'd stripped off his pants, standing next to the bed, cock jutting upward, mouth still wet from her.

 

Steve's hands twitched when she faced him like he wanted to cover himself from her long perusal of his form. He forced his shoulders straight.

 

She went to him and pulled his head down to hers for another bruising kiss.

 

Natasha slid the condom on with a light, teasing touch, stroking. She ran her hands over him until he was almost trembling, tension singing through his body, and he lifted her up, unto the bed.

 

It took a minute to get situated, get him lined up, and then he pushed into her, the stretch of him skirting the edge of too-much, pleasure skewing to pain and then back.

 

Steve fell into a rhythm immediately, fast, hard, _exactly_ what she wanted. She raked her nails down his back in encouragement, dug her fingers into his backside.

 

"Is this–?" Steve gasped, one hand gripping the headboard, his other arm curled under her back, hand gripping her shoulder to keep her from slipping too far up the bed with his thrusts.

 

"No, more _,_ "Natasha said, snapping her hips up to met his, merciless. She was going to feel the echoes of this every time she moved tomorrow, she was going to have the sweetest bruises from Steve's fingers and his mouth, a roadmap to retrace this. She came at that thought, her cunt clenching around his cock.

 

That sent Steve over the edge; his hips stuttered and his breath caught as he climaxed, the headboard cracking under his hand.

 

~~~

 

(They'd ordered a round of appetizers for sustenance and to soak up the booze. Of course, the round of drinks they'd ordered _with_ the appetizers made that kind of a moot point.

 

"So did you tell Coulson about the results of your ruse?" Natasha asked, and tossed a couple of beer-batter jalapeños into her mouth.

 

"First of all, you're very welcome," Maria said, and then continued, voice level and serious. "Second, Coulson's dead." That kind of unswerving commitment to a cover story was one reason it was a shame that she and Maria hadn't had a chance to work undercover together much before both of their faces became public knowledge.

 

Natasha waited.

 

"Third, like hell I told him," Maria continued. "Do you know how much goddamn scrambling I've had do because he thinks rebuilding SHIELD is a good idea? I should kill him and Fury both. Besides, he _had a problem with Trip."_ She made a disbelieving moue.

 

Sharon fucking _beamed_ at that, pressing into Maria and kissing her, a hard, dirty kiss.

 

Natasha took a swig of her beer and rolled her eyes.

 

"Going to come up for air anytime soon?" she asked.

 

"Not a chance," Sharon breathed into Maria's mouth.)

 

~~~

 

Natasha lazily blinked her eyes open and found herself was braced against Steve's chest. He was holding onto the upper edge of the mattress, keeping them both from rolling onto the floor. The mattress was resting at an angle, at least two of the legs of the frame broken.

 

Natasha pushed herself up to better survey the damage.

 

Her hotel room was trashed.

 

The hallway end table was still resting against the door, the bland picture next to it hanging by one corner.

 

They'd broken the bed; the headboard had cracked, splitting slowly apart until one half had been swaying dangerously over Natasha's head. At that point, Steve had ripped it free and tossed it away, managing to knock over the bedside table and break the lamp. The sheets and blankets were twisted together, lying in a pile on the floor.

 

She glanced over towards the window. Her bag looked fine.

 

"Where are you going?" Steve asked sleepily when she moved away.

 

"Shower," she answered.

 

"Good idea." He put an arm under her knees, around her shoulders. "Let me," he said. "There's bits of broken lamp on the floor."

 

Steve carried her to the bathroom. As he walked, Natasha nuzzled up the line of his neck and nipped at his ear, just for the pleasure of hearing his breath catch.


End file.
